


A Modest Proposal

by allthegoodnamesaretakendammit



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Age Difference, Asexuality, Harry is seventeen, M/M, Religious Themes, Wedding Night, a power nap, and more than enough filth for you to roll around in, disregarding the last four books entirely, gray-A demiromantic Dumbledore, not crack as much as it is a step apart from reality, oh my god who wrote this, power differential, what I'm saying is that it's silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-25
Updated: 2017-09-25
Packaged: 2019-01-05 10:06:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12187914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allthegoodnamesaretakendammit/pseuds/allthegoodnamesaretakendammit
Summary: Dumbledore felt that it was wrong to have a funeral without a wedding to cancel it out, and Harry thought he rather had a point. So they got married. Of course, none of their friends could attend because they were all still hovering around the smoldering remains of Voldemort and talking to Aurors and tending to the wounded and unmasking the Death Eaters lying prostrate on the Hogwarts lawn. No use getting upset about it, really.





	A Modest Proposal

 

Dumbledore felt that it was wrong to have a funeral without a wedding to cancel it out, and Harry thought he rather had a point. So they got married. Of course, none of their friends could attend because they were all still hovering around the smoldering remains of Voldemort and talking to Aurors and tending to the wounded and unmasking the Death Eaters lying prostrate on the Hogwarts lawn. No use getting upset about it, really.

It's just that once Dumbledore had suggested it, they couldn't be bothered to wait. They strode down to the Lake, along its rocky shore, through the trees, and over to a nice sun-dappled clearing just twenty meters into the Forbidden Forest. As it happened, the Grey Lady and Sir Nicholas were there, walking arm in arm and spectating an enormous ghostly game of cricket in the middle of the clearing. Upon sighting them, Nick floated over to them immediately, saying, “My good men! What brings you to join us on this fine day?”

"We are to be married," Dumbledore told him.

"Figured there'd been enough death today and we should try to balance it out," Harry explained.

"Here, here!" said Nick. He proceeded to pluck the Fat Friar from his game and bully him into officiating, though the Friar protested he wasn't high-ranked enough to do that sort of thing. Still, the Friar smiled at them, borrowed one of the gloomy nuns’ Bibles, and flipped right to the part with the good verses.

All the ghosts in the clearing fell to a hush and faced the Friar in somewhat orderly lines as he began to speak: "Love is patient, love is kind. We know this because God is good to us. And we know _that_ because the Lord is compassionate toward all his works. The longer we live--or linger in the mortal plane, as it were--the further we are propelled toward this one truth: _it is not good for man to be alone._ So it was in Genesis, so it is today. We are here, therefore, to rejoice within the truth..."

All told, the ceremony lasted about five minutes. The Friar spoke of love, life everlasting, and soon Fawkes alighted on a tree branch, cawing appreciatively when Harry and Dumbledore took each other's hands to say their vows. Dumbledore was just as happy as Harry had ever seen him, voice steady as he announced, “I, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, pledge to love and protect you in times of trial. To dwell with you, even when you are not near. To cherish your dreams as my own. To seek solace in you when I am weak, when I am hurting, when I am more human than I can bear.”

Harry couldn’t even feel his face, he was so overwhelmed by what he was hearing. He managed to swallow thickly and say good things, true things, even though they didn’t sound as pretty. “I, Harry James Potter, er… love you very much. And I want to help you and spend time with you, even when everything is terrible. You--you make me a better person. You’re my ally, my friend. I know I can count on you for anything. I hope… I hope you know that you can count on me, too."

There were no rings. There were no objections. There were no tears when Dumbledore brought the ceremony to a close by bending down to kiss Harry--once, chaste, but lingering.

That's when Peeves bounced up to them, holding a bunch of dead flowers, with a couple of leafy weeds thrown in for good measure. "For the happy couple," he said smarmily, grinning like they were setting up the punchline of a grand joke and he was in on it.

"Thank you, Peeves," Dumbledore said sincerely, and he accepted the bouquet as if it were a gift from a king. He continued smiling serenely as all of the petals fell off as soon as it reached his hand.

Then they walked back up to the castle, winding the long way around with a train of ghosts behind them, parading two by two. At last they came to the foot of the Headmaster's Tower, where the office window stood several stories above them, precisely seventeen paces away. Dumbledore wrapped an arm around Harry, raised his wand to incant " _Dissendium,"_ and they were borne into the air, raised as carefully and slowly as if they were on an escalator. When their feet found the windowsill, Dumbledore pressed his wandtip to the window latch and cast _Reserarium._ The window doors clicked open and swung inward, and they both took a big step down to the floor of the Headmaster's office. Cheering and applause could be heard from below and a few grains of spectral rice sprinkled through the open window before Dumbledore latched it shut again.

As Dumbledore tucked the dead flower stalks into a crystal vase on the mantel, Harry eyed the door at the back of the room--which he'd always figured led to a bedroom. He quipped, "So who's going to carry who over the, er--what's it called?"

"The threshold," Dumbledore informed him as a Featherlight Charm washed over Harry, making him feel all wobbly before Dumbledore scooped him up and carried him bridal-style through the door. Harry laughed and kicked his weightless feet and blushed, just a bit.

When they entered Dumbledore's room, he twisted his head this way and that, trying to see it all. The walls were covered in shelves of books and knickknacks like a miniature replica of St. Basil's Cathedral and heaps of sweets and flies caught in amber and jars stuffed full of feathers and _more_ books. Exponentially more books. Ornamental rugs were layered over each other, overlapping enough to create an uneven floor. Dumbledore didn't stumble over them even a little, though; he just carried them straight to a big bed with purple bedclothes and midnight blue hangings dotted with winking stars and a moon that kept changing phases. Dumbledore laid him down on top of the covers and popped off Harry's shoes for him, but left on his socks.

"Thanks," Harry said through a yawn, and watched as Dumbledore slipped off his own shoes before dimming the lights with a graceful swish of his wand. Then the bed dipped as Dumbledore laid flat on his back next to Harry, placing his hat and wand on the bedside table. In the dimly lit room, sparkling with raw hunks of amethyst and jade Buddha statuettes and muggle snowglobes, Harry's eyes closed on the sight of Dumbledore beside him, looking perfectly at peace.

 

*

 

Honestly, they must have only slept a couple of hours before Harry's eyes cracked open again. Still, the nap had refreshed him, and he could hardly blame them for falling asleep right away. It _was_ a very nice bed.

Harry had slept curled up on his side, so he was at the perfect vantage point to watch Dumbledore's chest rise and fall, his beard lifting a little on the longer exhales. He was an incredibly old man; sleep did nothing to lessen it. The many lamps scattered about the room cast low, flickering orange light over them and lit up the wrinkles around his eyes, the furrow on his forehead, and the length of all his white hair, like an endless snowdrift.

They'd both fallen asleep with their glasses on, so Harry was sure they both had funny red lines on their faces. Harry propped himself up on one elbow and traced the crease curved over Dumbledore's nose, then the pink divot going all the way back to Dumbledore's ear. Right as his fingertip reached the shell of Dumbledore’s ear, he realized that those twinkling blue eyes were looking up at him. Harry's breath caught, all tangled up in the thought: _my husband. This is my husband._

And then: _let’s do what married people do_. Feeling adventurous, Harry found himself asking aloud, “Can we--?”

“Anything you wish and nothing you do not. You need only name it,” Dumbledore replied as he leaned over to press a kiss against Harry’s forehead.

“My neck. I want you to kiss my--” And Dumbledore was there, his lips coasting behind his ear and down his throat. He placed gentle kisses there, on the tender skin beneath Harry’s jaw. Harry sighed his way through it--the heat curling in his gut, the sleepy thumping of his heart, the soft sweep of Dumbledore’s beard. His mouth worked lower, his tongue darting out more and more in a way that made Harry’s breath shake. Then he tucked a kiss right in the hollow of Harry’s throat that made Harry reach out and fist a hand in Dumbledore’s hair.

Luckily for him, Dumbledore had plenty of hair for him to pull on. Even better, Dumbledore seemed to like it, humming fondly as he smoothed his lips over that same spot. It made Harry all shivery the longer it went on and at last, he had to silently persuade Dumbledore away from it, guiding him back up so that they could kiss like they had at their wedding--lips slotting together like lock and key. A close, perfect fit. A wet click. Oh, this was nothing like their wedding at all. It was easy, though, just lying here on their sides and--and being _married_ , Merlin on a merry-go-round.

Harry felt hot all over now, his lips most of all. He hoped they weren’t too chapped. Dumbledore certainly didn’t seem to mind; one kiss after another blended into yet another without complaint. Harry began to feel lightheaded and his lips seemed rubbed raw from the friction, gentle as it was. By reflex, he licked his lips to feel just how dry they were for himself. Of course, he wound up inadvertently getting a taste of Dumbledore too. Being the polite bloke that he was, Dumbledore licked him right back--swiping quick and hot over the swell of Harry’s lower lip. Harry surprised himself, then, with the secondary flash of heat down his spine, the gasp that escaped him, the tightening in his trousers. Dumbledore massaged the curve of Harry’s shoulder, making the cotton material of Harry’s t-shirt shift over his skin.

And then Dumbledore pulled away and said, apropos of nothing, “I am many things, Harry, but a sexual being isn’t one of them.”

Harry was dumbstruck. All he managed to say was, “So… you don’t want to…?”

“I enjoy touching you and learning you in this way. Chiefly, however, I wish to make you happy. Would bringing you to climax make you happy, Harry?”

Harry squirmed, thought about it as hard as he could through the red haze of embarrassment, and said, “Erm.”

“It’s alright,” Dumbledore said comfortingly, eyes beseeching. “I simply need you to be candid with me.”

Sheepishly, Harry muttered, “I mean, yeah. It would. For a bit.”

Dumbledore smiled at him; appreciating his honesty, if Harry had to guess. “Very well, then,” he said, giving his shoulder another reassuring squeeze. “Is there anything in particular you’d like to do?”

As if by magic, Harry’s mind became a terrifying white blank.

“Shall we simply enjoy ourselves and see where it takes us?” Harry nodded his head fervently, glad to be in bed with someone so patient, someone willing to ask so many leading questions. Someone… someone just like Dumbledore.

He scooted closer on his side to kiss Dumbledore again, pawing at his back and losing all his breath again from the very first. They proceeded to snog like the fate of the wizarding world depended on it. It took some minutes before Harry managed to surface again. Breath short and mind racing, he tried to think about what, exactly, he’d like to happen next. Dumbledore’s hand was steady between his shoulderblades as Harry thought it over, second-guessed it, and then concluded the same thing several times over.

Harry took hold of Dumbledore’s wrist and haltingly pulled it to his front, laying that wizened hand over his stomach. Just feeling Dumbledore touch him there filled his belly with happy, excited squiggles. His hand laid flat over Dumbledore’s, he guided their hands to the hem of his t-shirt, where the stitching had gone loose with use, and slid them underneath it. Merlin, that felt nice. Dumbledore’s palm made the softest sound imaginable against his skin as Harry steered it north, until it lay over the center of his chest. It left his shirt rucked halfway up, his cock that much harder. He could feel his chest rising and falling, humoring his lungs, in contrast to the stillness of Dumbledore’s hand. His thumb was a couple centimeters below one nipple and his pinky was three centimeters above the other.

Harry attempted to voice his feelings on the matter. "Would you...? Could you...?"

"I'd be delighted." Long fingers skated over his chest, where Harry had managed to grow at least _some_ hair to take pride in. Those fingers began to circle one nipple and Harry watched them move underneath his rumpled shirt, mesmerized yet nervous at how they left him in suspense. Dumbledore ducked closer to kiss him again and Harry sunk into it, always hoping for another kiss. It was… sensual, if that was the right word. It was slow and wet and he could actually feel how red his mouth had gotten; he could hear their tongues working together to make them both feel warm and alive.

That’s when Dumbledore began fingering his nipple idly. A thumb passed back and forth over it, almost curiously. Like he was interested to see if it’d be the start of a chain reaction. And as a matter of fact, it was. Harry’s mouth gaped open on a high sound, quiet but full of feeling as his pants tightened again and his gut throbbed with heat. Dumbledore kissed the corner of his mouth and kept at it, flickering over his nipple until he pinched it lightly between his thumb and forefinger.

“Ah! _Ahhh..._ ” Dumbledore was looking at him tenderly, like he’d just won the House Cup for the fourth year running. “Merlin, fuck, I need--”

But how do you tell _Albus Dumbledore_ that you need him on top of you? Right _now?_

Harry forewent words entirely, flipping onto his back and widening the spread of his legs so that he could get Dumbledore between them. What a wonderfully giving man he was, Harry thought wistfully as Dumbledore maneuvered himself down the bed and knelt between Harry’s legs, moving deftly enough not to jostle him.

“Do you know, Harry,” Dumbledore said philosophically as he massaged Harry’s thigh meaningfully, “it occurs to me that we didn’t hold a reception. No wine, no cake, no feast.”

“Yeah?” Harry pants.

“Indeed. If you’d allow me, I think you’d serve just fine in their stead.” His hand was moving higher now, sending liquid heat through Harry’s veins. “Would you, Harry? Quench my thirst? Allow me a feast?”

Biting his lip and sucking breaths near-hysterical from arousal, Harry nodded frantically. Dumbledore placed a kiss right between his navel and the button of his trousers, and he unzipped Harry’s fly--at which point Harry stopped breathing. It took a couple moments for Dumbledore to notice, but when he did, his hands fell away and he said, “I think you’ll find that breathing is essential to the enterprise.”

At that, Harry did actually manage to exhale, and inhale, and rinse then repeat. With a voice that edged on disapproval, Dumbledore told him, “Harry, if it gets to be too much, you must tell me.”

Harry had worried him, he realized with a shock. “I guess I just thought...that if we’re married, we might as well do it properly.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Dumbledore said. “We must do it _properly._ ”

Merlin, this man could sell dung to dragons, Harry thought as he relaxed against the sheets. “If I may?” Dumbledore asked, that twinkle coming back into his eye.

“You’re--you’re welcome to it,” Harry said, trying to make it sound like he was offering him a seat at dinner. No, at a feast. The gesture was appreciated, if Dumbledore’s affectionate smile was anything to go by. With that, he hooked his fingers into Harry’s belt loops and over the band of his Y-fronts. He tugged them both just low enough to brush his lips over Harry’s groin, where the hair really began to gather together, curly and dark.

Harry clutched fretfully at the comforter as Dumbledore nosed around down there, but he kept his breathing nice and steady. His pants and trousers slipped lower and lower, a centimeter at a time, the whole process dotted with kisses. Dumbledore was so careful, so intentional about it that Harry couldn’t help feeling very loved. But then, he guessed, that was kind of the point of… celebrating their union. At least, Harry’s sure that’s how Dumbledore would put it.

Finally, the Y-fronts and trousers were brought low enough that Harry’s cock came popping out of them completely, at which point Dumbledore pulled his clothes off much more quickly. With his hands relieved of their task, his index finger was free to follow along the vein that ran up the side of Harry’s cock. Harry made low sounds as Dumbledore encircled him with long fingers, angling just so, in order to lave his tongue over it. If Harry didn’t know better, he’d say that Dumbledore was mapping it, taking stock of it with semicircular sweeps of his tongue.

The term _tongue-lashing_ came to mind. Although, Harry was pretty sure this wasn’t what Snape had in mind when he told the Headmaster that he should to take a firmer hand with Harry. 

Then there were warm lips wrapped around him, taking him down in one long, wet suck. Harry heard himself whimpering, his hips jerking as Dumbledore began to bob his head. Up, then down. Up, then down. Harry was at sea: his whole body afloat, buoyant on the ebb and flow of sensation. Eventually, Dumbledore sucked him down far enough that Harry could feel his face brushing up against the join of his thighs--bristly around the mustache, ticklish around the beard. Harry’s knees came up around Dumbledore's head, jolting reflexively whenever he got tickled. He’d tense up as he was swallowed, relax as he was released, tense up as pleasure brought him up short again, relax as it receded.

Some infinite handful of minutes later, Dumbledore’s mouth left him. But his hand kept moving, jacking Harry intently. From far away, Harry heard him comment, “My dear boy. You seem to be enjoying yourself immensely, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

“Mm-hmmm,” Harry offered, and then his breath broke on the force of his next moan, torn out of him by the feeling of Dumbledore’s thumb playing with the slit of his cockhead like it was a fine instrument.

This. This was going to kill him, but maybe he’d get to come first. Remembering how this all got started, Harry wheezed, “It’s good! Fuck, it’s so good--”

It seemed that was all Dumbledore had wanted to hear. In a sudden burst of heat, Dumbledore’s lips were wrapped around him again, sucking him all the way down. Harry cried out, his hips bucking uncontrollably, now, as the pace doubled and his hands locked the sheets in an iron grip. And through it all, there was Dumbledore’s right hand gentling over Harry’s thigh. Dumbledore bypassed his balls completely and reached back, further back--

And pressed one dry finger over Harry’s hole, pushing flatly over it--not to wedge itself inside, but simply for the sake of the thing. Harry cried out, his skin on fire and his whole body thrumming on the verge of orgasm. Dumbledore did it again, pressing harder this time.

Lightening. A thundering pulse throbbing in his empty head. His back bowed as waves of light and pleasure and emotion broke over him. The sensation of Dumbledore swallowing around him, then cool air touching his cock as sweat seeped into the sheets below him. Harry felt like he’d drunk an entire jug of Felix Felicis and been hit with a _Confundus_ at the same time.

“Ah, married life suits me. I can already tell,” Dumbledore said as he moved to sit next to him. 

Harry cleared enough of the fuzz in his head to take in the humming all over his body, the lightness of his mind, and sighed, “Me too.”

Dumbledore plucked his wand off the nightstand and with silent, graceful gestures swept the sweat off of Harry’s skin, freshened the sheets, and summoned a silver pitcher of water along with a glass to pour it into. He brought the glass up to Harry’s lips and let him drain it in short, periodic sips. Harry had never had it so good.

When the glass was empty, Dumbledore spirited it back from whence it came and settled back against the headboard, where Harry promptly crawled up to rest his head over Dumbledore’s chest. Merlin, this was such a nice bed.

They could hear faint singing from a long way off, and something like laughter echoing over the stones. Harry turned his face into the front of Dumbledore’s robes, smiling and sated and feeling deliriously happy.

"Ah, the world,” Dumbledore commented as one arm came around Harry and the other sank fingers into Harry’s hair, beginning to card through it. “How it does go on."

 

**Author's Note:**

> The verses are, in order: “Love is patient, love is kind” (1 Corinthians 12:31–13:8), “The Lord is compassionate toward all his works” (Psalm 145), and “It is not good for the man to be alone” (Genesis 2:18–24). I used turns of phrase from many other vows I’ve heard in the countless weddings I’ve attended, but I’ve listed here all of the verses that I quoted directly.
> 
> Thank you, betas. You know who you are.


End file.
